Brief cross-post:

I am alive. I am back in Cali. I am, in fact, back at home base. I have spent so much hectic, broken-up time in Los Angeles and Holland, Ohio (next to Toledo). Celebrated so many holidays in various ways. Gotten so many hugs. Had a frickin' nasty cold. Which I got from (I think) Andy, in Long Beach, and passed on to Chris's dad in Ohio (and who knows how many others), but which is getting better. Met the gorgeous little angels that are apparently now my great-neices, and the people my age and several years older who are now basically my neices and nephews (Chris is much younger than his eldest brother, and his eldest brother's wife is older than him, and started early, to boot--some of her kids are Chris's age). I was pinned Tinsel Princess/Tinsel Fairy by the aforementioned angels (they were sticking tinsel in my hair), and I am absolutely in love, 'kay, thanks. I walked (well, ran) and washed dogs, I have comforted the cat, I have played more hands of cards than your mother, and probably more rounds of a domino game, too. I read, I sang, I danced, I flew more hours on more planes than is legal, and was identified nervously ("Byerly?") by one of the flight attendents, which may have to do with my likelihood-to-be-a-terrorist score, as the young man in front of me was also identified, and had been particularly harassed going through security (and attributed his own check-up-by-stewardess to the same). It's a possibility, anyway, fun fun.

I am partway through the catching up phase, but only partly. I'm considering putting on pants and going over to the movie store to rent Little Miss Sunshine, to make an attempt on liquifying my brain into some kind of calm.

I have laughed a lot. And had a very good time.

And I love my moose. Chris's folks gave us this little fellow they picked up at a grocery/farm-equipment/candy/kitsch/etc. store near them, and he has not left my side since. And I have been on an unholy streak of game-winning terror since (attempts have been made on the well-being of my moose, in fact!)

I love him, and loved him just as vibrantly before I whispered to him, "I need the blue nine, moosey" and drew the blue nine immediately after, and won three rounds in a row before anyone else had a chance to lay down a card. I loved him on sight, with his big soft nose and soulful black plastic eyes, and then loved him even more trying to find a name for him (loopy at 2 am). And it is as thus: His name is BonBon. Also, Super BonBon. But his proper name is Baba, BonBon being a nickname therefrom. Baba au Moose, or Baba au Moosey, the Moose, the Inimitable, Indomitable, Inabominominabable Snow Moose, the Moose [Stuffed]. (The end bit is read "Moose, Brackets, Stuffed, Close Brackets.") He is also sometimes called Moosey. And I sing him, "Teenage Mooseland! It's only teenage MOOSEland. . ." and "Super Bon Bon." I love this moose.

And as I have been long looking for some way to swear and express surprise without bringing someone's religion into it (OH MY GOD, Jesus CHRIST) or a neutering-to-avoid-blasphemy of the same (Oh my gosh! Jeeze! Jeezopeets!), I am officially taking to OH. MY. MOOSE.

There'll be something (in the blogspot journal) about "Chowchilla: A Unique Way of Life" and other infuriating/absurd roadsigns tomorrow, I think, once I've finished catching up on the wonderful smut what awaits me in the slash communities I adore. And then maybe I'll get around to finishing some smut (well, fic) myself.

Bleeding. And drinking very buttery mint-and-tarragon tea. And must find pants, for to go retrieve a movie.

LOVE.